Steele Out at the Movies
by nefret24
Summary: Steele uncovers a little secret of Laura's. Set in first season, short but sweet. RR please.


Steele Out at the Movies

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Remington Steele, Laura Holt, Murphy Michaels, or Bernice Fox. This is completely and entirely for my own sick pleasure so lighten up, okay? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and I'll return em to PAX in one piece when I'm finished playing with them....

Author's Note: After seeing "Vintage Steele" and hearing Wilson comment that Laura used to sneak out to see movies on work days, I thought that perhaps she wasn't as clueless about those movie citations as previously assumed. Maybe she can top Steele at his own game.... This story is set very early in Season One.

The man impersonating Remington Steele decided to make himself at home in the Agency's offices. Miss Wolf- er...Fox?- no, it was Wolf- had eyed him with curiosity while Murphy had given him sneers and the evil eye. He read the paper and sipped his coffee, politely asking *his* receptionist (he was the boss, was he not? as he had told Murphy) to let him know when Miss Holt arrived. In a search for more staples so that he could continue making hats out of the newspaper he had read three times over already, he entered her office and sat down at her desk. He pulled out the first drawer- no staples. He was about to close it when the contents of the drawer caught his eye. Laura had five different photo ID mock-ups. He held the fake IDs in his hands and scanned them, looking at the different personas she had created. Joan Madou, CIA. Dr. Constance Peterson, AMA. Anne Kalman, LAPD. Paula Alquist, Italian Art Squad. Ilsa Lund, KGB. They reminded him of his own collection of passports. Five names but one face. He smiled to himself. Apparently, there was more to Laura Holt than she let on. 

He was about to return them to the drawer when recognition dawned on him. He looked at the names again. Joan Madou, a Frenchwoman struggling against the Nazis- Arch of Triumph, United Artists, 1946. Constance Peterson- a cold but beautiful psychiatrist desperate to help a handsome patient- Spellbound, United Artists, 1945. Anne Kalman- a lonely actress head over heels for a married man- Indiscreet, Warner Brothers, 1958. Paula Alquist- a wife driven to madness by a greedy husband- Gaslight, MGM, 1944. And the most glaring example of all: Ilsa Lund. The unmarried name of the love of Rick Blaine's life, Casablanca, Warner Brothers, 1942. Each and every one the name of someone Ingrid Bergman had played in the movies. Indeed, he and Miss Holt would definitely be having a little talk...

He heard the intercom in his office buzz. He hastily returned the IDs to the drawer and left her office smirking. So, I'm not the only one who likes movies and role-playing, am I, Miss Holt? he thought. He moved to his desk and pressed the intercom button. "Steele here," he said.

"She's ba-ck," Bernice said.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Wolf."

"FOX!" she screamed indignantly.

Oblivious, he briskly entered the outer office. Laura wasn't there. Bernice pointed to Murphy's door. Nodding, he approached it and opened the door only slightly, listening:

Murphy's voice: "I'll get the first aid kit."

Laura protesting: "It's only a scratch. I'm *fine.*"

Concerned, Steele opened the door a bit more, still concealing his presence from his two "associates."

"I wish you wouldn't do things like that," Murphy sighed. "You could get yourself hurt."

"Really, Murph! I'm a grown woman and a licensed PI- I think I can handle myself!"

Another sigh. "Alright, alright, here. At least put some antiseptic on it. So," he said, settling back in his chair, "how did you get Bakers to talk?"

Laura affected a seductive Russian accent and said darkly, "Because my organization would know soon enough..."

"You didn't! Laura, please tell me you didn't play Russian spy queen with this guy!"

"I did not play Russian spy queen with Bakers, " she said stiffly and mechanically. 

"Thank God." Another sigh.

"I merely used my powers of persuasion by affecting a Russian accent, a fedora..."

"And that stupid spy story! Geez, Laura!"

"Oh come on, it *always* works," she said smiling and affecting an accent again.

"If it works so well, why the gash on the knee?" Murphy asked triumphantly.

Laura had now positioned herself on top of his desk, removed one stocking and had begun first aid on one shapely leg. Looking up from her scrapes, she replied, "It's a *scratch* from hopping the fence behind the plant. Teeny tiny. All it did was ruin my pantyhose."

Murphy shot her a look of extreme irritation. Laura expostulated, "Well, it would have been seamless if I had remembered to bring my ID."

Steele entered now, taking them both by surprise. "You mean the fake KGB identification pass in your desk?" he asked smirking. 

"You lousy eavesdropper!" said Murphy indignantly. Laura remained sitting on the desk, her mouth opening and closing like a fish with surprise, and then quickly remembering office decorum, she lowered her leg and yanked her skirt down as far as it would go. 

"Why were you rifling through my desk?" she said very slowly, enunciating every word with extreme precision and annoyance. 

"I was looking for staples."

"Why?" asked Murphy suspiciously.

"Not important," Steele brushed him off quickly. "What I found fascinating was Laura's desire to emulate a certain siren of the silver screen..."

"You didn't..." Laura began angrily. 

"Despite the obvious physical differences, I must say, Miss Holt that you have proved yourself to be quite photogenic," he continued smoothly, sitting back in a chair and smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"Not as photogenic as you, I'm sure," said Murphy dryly. "Five passports?"

"Five identification badges...." he interrupted, still smiling at Laura.

"Humprey Bogart!" Murphy continued angrily.

"Ingrid Bergman," he replied simply, his eyes still fixed on Laura.

Laura, who had herself been uncharacteristically silent during this typical display of male protectivism that Murphy and Mr. Steele had elevated to an artform, cleared her throat audibly. "Murph, give us a minute," she said authoritatively. 

Shooting her a look, Murphy complied, shaking his head he closed his office door behind him. 

Steele's smile grew larger at his departure. "Really, Laura, I'm amazed at your knowledge of the cinema. And here I had thought that you didn't appreciate the classics."

"Aren't you satisfied with yourself. It isn't a crime for an investigator to use cover identities."

"Hmmm, yes. And yet, one cannot help but see the obvious connection..." he said, placing his fingers against his cheek in a pose of elegant contemplation.

"Connection?"

"Richard Blaine and..."

"Ilsa Lund. That's stretching it a bit, don't you think?" she said skeptically raising her eyebrows.

His eyebrows reciprocated. "Why not? Fate, destiny, kismet," he said theatrically gesturing and smiling suggestively.

Laura got down from the desk and began to pace, never taking her eyes off Remington. "And I suppose that would make Murphy, what? Lazlo?"

"I've always thought he was more similar to Peter Lorry, myself."

"You would." She stopped in her tracks and contemplated his countenance briefly. "Is that what this is really about?"

"That's what I love about you Laura, suspicious to the end."

"Uh-huh. Are we bonding now?"

"You like the classics, I like the classics..."

"We all like the classics?" she said, amusement unwillingly creeping into her voice. 

"Obviously, it's a sign."

"Obviously- a sign that you have completely lost it."

"No, my intellect has never been clearer," he said confidently, rising. "I have five passports, you have five fake ids-"

"A sign?"

"Fate, destiny, kismet," he said seductively, approaching her and placing his hands on her shoulders. 

Pursing her lips, she stepped willingly into his embrace, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered in his ear. "Busy this evening?"

Completely distracted, he managed, "All my time is yours."

Stepping back a little, she smiled up at him. "Good, because I know just the thing..."

"Movie marathon?"

"Better," she grinned.

His eyebrows went skyhigh. 

Impressed with his reaction, Laura stepped behind him and then whispered, "Paperwork."

His jaw dropped. 

"Fate, destiny, kismet!" she said dramatically, and, after giving him a fleeting caress on his cheek, promptly left the room. 

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head at the closing door. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship," he whistled under his breath, and after absconding with Murphy's stapler, went back to his office with a smile on his face.


End file.
